


The No-Cryo Mix

by inkdust



Series: The Goddamn Winter Soldier (et al.) [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Slice of Life, and no cryo, basically what this series has been about, in case that wasn't clear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 12:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10218611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkdust/pseuds/inkdust
Summary: Even without the rifle scope, even almost two years after the last Mission, he still spent a lot of time watching things. But seriously, this place was a circus sideshow even on a slow day.And Bucky just might be a part of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For those who enjoy such things, I started [The No-Cryo Mix](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bgiQD56eWDk&list=PL2FmFEmlEETO7G9MzcEhAbJ79BM6Zrs4k&index=1), the default playlist I imagine Bucky listening to in the early days of recovery - heavily inspired by the Guardians of the Galaxy Awesome Mix Vol. 1, because that music just feels like Bucky. And it's all new to him.

Some habits were engrained deep, Bucky found. Even without the rifle scope, even almost two years after the last Mission, he still spent a lot of time watching things.

It had helped in the beginning. The Tower was a far cry from Brooklyn, and Steve had asked more than once during the first few weeks whether Bucky truly wanted to stay. But there was a rhythm to the place, buried under all that shiny chaos. Bucky could feel it. He spent most of those afternoons in the common area, tucked in by the window with his headphones on, just watching it all carry on around him.

A few months back, he read a book Sam had told him about (though Sam couldn’t decide whether he should read it or really shouldn’t read it—some things were like that for Bucky). Most of it was serious, but as soon as the boy started talking about “participating” in his own life, Bucky had laughed to himself.

(He had to read the book in small pieces, curled up in the crook of Steve’s arm, but it was good. Something about wallflowers.)

Even now, when he didn’t need the headphones most days, he got the feeling that the people too busy “participating” were losing out a little. Because, seriously, this place was a circus sideshow even on a slow day.

A slow day looked something like this:

 

0800  
Common floor kitchen

Bucky finally hauls his ass out of bed and seeks coffee. Except there’s none in their own kitchen, because Stark is under the impression that Bucky won’t interact socially unless he’s physically drawn out of their apartment and therefore instructed JARVIS not to restock their coffee. Bucky could and should enlighten him to the stupidity of withholding coffee from the guy with a metal arm, but it would just be extra effort. So Bucky grabs one of the Hawkeye T-shirts and shuffles into the elevator.

Bruce is hunched over the table with a strong-scented teapot and a sheaf of papers, idly twirling his glasses in one hand. He glances up when the elevator opens and twirls his glasses in Bucky’s direction, because he doesn’t flap his jaw just to fill silence. Bruce is cool like that.

“Smells weird,” Bucky says of the teapot when he sits across the table with a six-inch stack of toast (which would be a huge pain to make if Stark’s toaster didn’t handle a loaf at a time).

“It’s turmeric.” Bruce nudges an empty teacup with his pen. “If you want to try, go for it.”

Bucky does, because that’s his policy ever since food became relevant again. The tea is a vivid orange that will probably stain the cup.

“Don’t do it,” a voice says from the air vent.

Bucky raises his middle finger at the ceiling.

It tastes weird too.

 

1015  
Training gym

Bucky is crouched on top of the climbing wall, watching Clint and Stark face off in an impromptu krav maga tournament. Looking at them, he suspects that Stark is only calling it an impromptu krav maga tournament because he likes saying “krav maga.” There is no finesse. There is no technique. Just two middle-aged white guys who clearly specialize in ranged combat for a reason. Bucky can’t tear his eyes away.

“It’s so bad,” Natalia mutters from the sidelines, barely audible even to Bucky over the grunts and scrabbling on the mat. “It’s just so bad.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Clint growls from under Stark’s arm.

“Beirut got boring.”

Clint struggles in the hold until Stark jabs him in the side. He yelps like a puppy.

“I call winner,” Wanda offers.

“ _Hell_ , no.” With a heave, Clint throws Stark over his shoulder.

Stark lands flat on his back with a groan. “You afraid to go up against our good witch? You know you could always—” he has to pause for breath “—tap out.”

Clint puts his hands on his hips. “You want to spar with that red stuff?” Bucky can’t see his raised eyebrow from this angle, but it’s there.

Stark doesn’t move, staring up at the ceiling, panting. “It’s Rhodey’s turn anyway. Sorry, Glinda.”

Across the room, Rhodes trades out his barbells with a clang. “You know, I think I’m just going to keep doing this, over here. And not do that.”

Bucky sees an opening to skitter down the climbing wall and takes it.

Stark jerks. “Jesus Christ.” He claps his hand over his chest. “Barnes. Hi. Hi, there.”

“You didn’t know he was there?” Natalia’s lips twist in a smirk.

“Dude, you were looking up. He was like right there.”

Stark sticks out a hand, wordlessly demanding that someone help him up. “He blends in,” he says under his breath.

Bucky raises his left arm as he heads for the door, light flashing off the metal and the shield painted on the shoulder. “Yeah, that’s it.”

 

1230  
Air ducts

Bucky navigates to the vent above Stark’s lab and records one minute and thirty-seven seconds of Stark dancing alone with his robots.

 

1445  
Common area couch

Bucky and Clint are eating Captain Crunch and watching a show about how people make marbles when Pepper marches in carrying a phone in one hand and broken heel in the other. She scans the room and sighs.

“Have either of you seen Tony?”

Clint shakes his head, his mouth full of cereal. Bucky pulls out his phone and shows her the video taken from the air vent.

It makes her smile, at least, though she bites her lip to hide it. “If that were to find its way to my inbox…” She sends Bucky a significant look.

“Understood.”

She scans them up and down. “You two look cozy and rested. One day I, too, will know what that feels like.”

Her phone chirps and Stark’s voice projects without prompting. “Pep? Why did you leave me…seven messages? Did you leave me seven messages?”

Pepper’s eyes say _give me strength._ She throws Bucky another smile and turns on her heel toward the elevator. “Where are you?”

“Zero envy, man,” Clint says, reaching for the open cereal box. “None.”

Bucky nods absently and picks up his phone to send a text. _Are you coming home_

 

1700  
Hallway

He tracks a strange scratching noise down three floors and across the garage to find a bird caught in the stairwell. It takes Bucky, Clint, and Bruce twenty-nine minutes to shoo it out, and they agree never to let anyone know that.

 

1915  
Kitchen

Bucky stations himself on the end of the counter near the stove. Sam isn’t there to gripe at him about putting his ass where people eat (also, wrong—nobody eats off this stretch of counter) and the only difference between a counter and a bench is height. Bucky is tall.

Between Stark’s lack of any kind of schedule and Clint’s tendency to eat dinner twice, the kitchen stays occupied. Bucky just so happened to wander in while Wanda was cooking a pot of something that looks just as orange as Bruce’s tea but smells ten times better, and if he puts himself in her line of sight—

“Would you taste it for me?”

He tries not to look too pleased. She sees right through him, but she offers anyway. She’s also the one who helped stitch up the shredded parts of his brain, so yeah, Bucky is on board with Wanda.

“Good,” he says around the spoon. “But I might need to try it again.”

“Try what?” Stark breezes in, trailed by Dr. Foster. “I want to try. You definitely want my opinion.”

Dr. Foster catches his arm before he can grab anything. “She really doesn’t.”

“Jane!” Wanda says in surprise. “Is Thor here as well?”

“Somewhere…” Dr. Foster— Jane, she keeps insisting, but Bucky’s brain struggles with that one—glances toward the elevator. “He wanted to see Bruce, but Tony has ordered in _sandwiches_ , so he won’t be long.”

“Sandwiches?” Bucky asks, sneaking a look at Stark.

“Yeah, yeah, there’s enough for you too, Roomba.”

Bucky salutes with the spoon.

 

2000  
Natalia’s floor

“So you haven’t told anyone,” Natalia remarks. She coaxes the last tangle loose and sets the brush on the floor beside her knee, just within his peripheral vision.

Bucky shrugs, tilting his head back a little further. “Doesn’t matter.”

She gives a hum that disagrees without pushing. “But you’ve had a good day.”

Bucky would nod, but her fingers are buried deep in his hair and he really doesn’t want her to take them away. He settles for a slightly pathetic purring noise that probably has her smirking up a storm.

“Tony should see you like this,” she teases. “You know he had JARVIS hack into your headphones one time?”

“My headphones?” Bucky repeats, his cognitive function suffering in proportion to the scritch of her nails on his scalp.

“Yeah, you were at the Tower for an oil change and Stark wanted to know what kind of death metal you were listening to. It was ‘Here Comes the Sun.’”

“Good song.”

Natalia snorts softly. “He almost had a conniption.”

Bucky’s lips curl at the image of Stark in a Beatles-induced fit. “Was it the lyrics?”

_Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting_  
_Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here_

He feels fully melted right now, with Natalia combing her fingers through his hair, the city all lit up out the window, and—

“Pardon me,” JARVIS interrupts, his volume low, “but the quinjet is landing.”

And that.

Natalia keeps him still long enough to smooth his hair back down. “Weren’t they supposed to get back tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Bucky heads for the elevator, unable to fight a smile. “But it’s Steve.”

“You’re a sap, Barnes.”

He wheels back around, pointing a warning finger at her. “Don’t tell.” The movement feels as close to Sergeant Barnes as he’ll ever be again. And that’s okay.

_And I say_  
_It’s all right_

Sam appears first, when the doors to the hangar open, his wing pack slung over one shoulder. He grins at Bucky. “You would’ve thought we were being chased out of there. Didn’t even know that shield could move that fast.” He claps Bucky on the back. “Happy birthday, man.”

And then Steve is there, face dirt-smeared and hair sweat-matted and all in all the best thing Bucky will ever see. He buries his face in Steve’s neck. “You made it.”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but shit comes up.”

“Sorry I missed the rest.” Steve hooks his thumbs in Bucky’s belt loops. “What did you do today?”

“Whatever I wanted.” Bucky feels Steve’s cheek lift in a smile.

“What’s next on that list, then?”

“Are you kidding? Shower.” Bucky pulls back to see his dumb oblivious face. “You absolutely reek.”

“Hey, when you’re rubbing your face all over me, I don’t—”

“I’m gonna rub my face on you—that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Steve coughs to disguise a laugh, poorly. “That sounds really weird, Buck.”

“Hey.” Bucky pinches his side with the metal fingers. “You gotta be nice to me, today.”

“Aw, but I’m never nice to you.”

Bucky frowns. His glares have lost some of their power, and he blames Steve. “You’re a punk.”

“You want me in the shower or not?”

He grabs Steve’s wrists and frog marches him down the hall to elevator.

It stops at the common floor, and Stark takes one step inside before he notices them. He blinks at Bucky’s left arm pinning Steve’s hands behind his back.

Stark steps back out. “I don’t want to know. I do not want to know.”

“It’s my birthday,” Bucky announces as the doors close, just in time to hear Stark groan, “Dear _god_ , I did not want to know.”

 

“So,” Steve says later, after they’re clean and sleepy, sprawled across the bed. The record player has spun to the end, but neither of them wants to move. “How old do we say we’re celebrating?”

Bucky nudges closer. “Old as shit, Stevie.” He tucks his nose under Steve’s ear. “But I feel pretty damn good.”

**Author's Note:**

> That's right, this was sneaky birthday fic. Technically it's set in 2016, a month after my Valentine's one-shot, but we can pretend because 100 <3
> 
> l0g0phile, the most versatile of sages, additionally betas playlist order and excessive agonizing over titles.
> 
> Let me know if you enjoyed and say hi on [tumblr](https://ink-dust.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
